Captain Rakiir: The Life of a Goodbeast Fox
by Ranuu
Summary: In the faraway land of Satilian, an epic story is about to be told.
1. Chapter One: The Story Begins

**Captain Rakiir: The Life of a Goodbeast Fox**

_A Redwall fanfiction by Ranuu_

Disclaimer: I don't own the Redwall series. Don't think that I do; direct all hailing, bowing down, etc. on that subject to Brian Jacques. Rakiir and other characters mentioned are either creations of me or are from Corsairs of the Black Flag.

Setting: Early afternoon, Baro.

A fox, gray with age, sat in a large chair in the middle of a large room. Around him were many signs of luxury; a large stone fireplace at the wall, an extremely elegant rapier in a box hanging over it. The building itself was elegant, the carpets made of fine velvet and exquisite wall-hangings, portraits of famous war-heroes and the like. He even wears gentlemens' clothing. Over his torso is a dark violet tunic and coat. His pants matched and trailed down to fancy, custom-made slippers. Small children gathered around him and stared in awe as he spoke; his stories were famous for leagues in all directions.

"Is everybody ready? This story shall take quite a while. Yes? Good. I have came here to tell you the story of a brave beast. In his lifetime, he was many things: a warrior, a sailor, he even became a captain in the Satilian navy. But, as all good tales do, we shall start at the beginning..."

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Setting: Late evening, Mossflower Forest.

Two foxes sat around a fire in the middle of a large wooded area. One, the male, was a reddish-blonde, and wore rags; showing that he was not too well off. The clothing mayhave, at one point, been a war uniform for some army, but stray branches and thorns had long since erased any evidence of such. His mate, a completely blonde vixen, sat on a log, nursing a small kit. The kit, whom they had named Ironfang, let out an uncomfortable moan, and the vixen quickly comforted him. She smiled at the babe, who was falling asleep slowly. She then looked up at the male, Deathclaw, and spoke in a soft voice.

"The baby won't last long on what we have. He's already starving, as are you and I. We must find somebody to help us."

Deathclaw turned and glared at her. He knew this; she had brought it up every day. He knew how they would soon die out here alone. Why did the master send them out here? They were but scouts in his horde, sent out here to find and spy on the fabled abbey. The family had gotten lost and were stranded in Mossflower.

"Aye, we'll all die if th' master doesn' show up soon. Shut yer mouth, we don' need ter hear it any mor' then we 'ave ter."

"I'm just concerned for Ironfang, as you should be."

Suddenly, there was a rustle in the bushes, and Deathclaw unsheathed his sword; what beast would be out at this time of night? The fox walked over to bushes and yelled in what he hoped was an intimidating voice.

"Whoever be there, show yer face now! Deathclaw doesn't 'ave time ter chase down his pr-"

He was suddenly dragged into the bushes by two otters. One covered his mouth, wincing when he bit his palm, and the other quickly slashed the fox's throat with his dagger, killing him. Deathpaw's mate laid the kit down on the ground softly then padded after Deathclaw.

"What happened? Where are you?"

Not paying attention to where she was walking, the vixen quickly tripped over something warm and wet. She looked down; it was her mate. A scream escaped her lips and she ran back to the camp, hoping that Ironfang was still okay. The two otters awaited her as she showed up. One of them said.

"Surrender now, vixen. We promise not to harm you nor your kit if you agree to leave Mossflower and never come back."

But he never got to finish his sentence, for she, in a frenzy, attacked the pair. She didn't have a weapon, but scratched and bit, trying to protect her child. She slashed one of the otters down the face, which would leave a permanent scar. In the rage that comes from injury, the otter stabbed with his spear, catching her through the stomach. A gasp was heard, and she collapsed, convulsing in the pain of a slow death. The other otter, knowing it would be impossible to save her now, stabbed her through the head, killing her instantly. The scarred otter then picked up Ironfang.

"What should we do with the kit, mate?"

"Let's take 'im ter the Abbey. Abbot Song will know what to do with him."


	2. Chapter Two: Into the Abbey

**Chapter Two: Into the Abbey**

_Setting: Dawn; Redwall Abbey_

Abbot Song was a hedgehog. A good one, mind you, but a hedgehog nonetheless. He was well-spoken, even in his old age, and didn't have the usual gruffness that came with his race. On this particular morning, he was sitting on top of the wall, watching the sunrise with the Skipper of Otters. They had let the night guard in early and promised to watch it themselves. Wrapping himself deeply into his habit, for it was pretty far into Autumn, the Abbot took a sip of hot tea and sighed.

"Even to creatures of our age, the sunrise never ceases to amaze, does it Skip?"

"No it don't, Father Abbot."

The hedgehog rolled his eyes; the Skipper always used his title like that. He had, on multiple occasions, asked the otter to stop, but Skip took it as a joke and kept finding new ways to use it.

"You know I don't like it when you call me that, you scallywag."

"Aye, but ye' know I like callin' yeh it. 'Tis fun."

Suddenly, the two heard a call from down on the path. The voice sounded like an otter, and their suspicions were confirmed when the Abbot looked over the side of the wall. Skipper followed his gaze and shouted down to the two otters below them. He noticed that one was holding a bundle of blankets, and something seemed to be inside.

"'ey mates! What're ye doing back so early? I thought ye were on patrol!"

The first one, the one without the bundle, waved and shouted back.

"We were, and we found a couple o' foxes out there. They attacked us and fell, but we saved their kit. Can we bring it inside?"

The Abbot gripped the side of the wall and strained to see the bundle.

"A baby? Of course! Bring it inside quickly, before it catches a cold!"

He rushed along the wall to the stairs, walked as quickly as he could down them, and approached the gatehouse. The hedgehog raised his fist and pounded on the door a couple of times, then waited in silence. After a moment, a sleepy looking mouse opened the door. He was wearing his habit and rubbed his eyes.

"Hello, father Abbot. What can I do for you this early in the mornin'?"

"You can open the door, Vrit. We have visitors."

After a moment, the door had been opened and the otters walked inside. The Abbot approached the second otter, noting the scar on his eye, and took the bundle from him. An uncomfortable squeak came from inside the blankets, and the old hedgehog smiled.

"Oh, we shall have to take care of him. I will not allow him to be abandoned. He is not of the age yet to where his parents will have influenced how he will be in the future. But, as is traditional, we must have a meeting on this matter. Skip, if you could get everybody who needs to be there into Cavern Hole, it would be nice."

"Aye, father abbot. They'll be there."

He ran off then, and the Abbot turned his eyes back toward the kit, walking toward the Abbey.

"Yes, we'll get you out of the cold and into a nice bed. We'll have to decide on a name for you later, won't we?"


	3. Chapter Three: Deciding a Future

**Chapter Three: Deciding a Future**

_Setting: Redwall Abbey, Cavern Hole; early afternoon._

After lunch, the Abbot made his way to Cavern Hole, reflecting on what this meeting would be about. Would the baby fox be allowed to stay? As he passed it, the hedgehog looked up at the giant tapestry of Martin the Warrior. It was something to be admired; many paws had been taken to sew the gigantic portrait. Over so many eons of time, the fabric had faded, but never to the point of noticing. You had to get extremely close to see the tiniest hint at the age of the fabric. As it did to so many, the tapestry seemed to warm him, to ready him for the oncoming challenge. The confident look in the warrior's eyes as vermin ran in every direction from him, the nonchalant posture as he leaned on his sword, everything pointed to a happy ending. And that was what the Abbot wanted to happen.

He let out a heavy exhale and walked into the small room. As the hedgehog was the first in there, he lit the fire and sat down in his chair. It was made of a heavy purple satin, comfortable enough to sit in, yet not so much as to fall asleep in. It withheld memories of long gatherings of war, of great leaders as well as ones who weren't as well equipped for the position. The whole room held these memories, the old sandstone walls, chipped in places, cracked in others spoke of a troubled, yet triumphant past. Abbot Song kept in a shudder; partially because of the cold, but also because of a sense of foreboding, excitement at what would soon begin.

The first entries were Skipper and the two otters. As the only witnesses to the previous night's incident, they had to be there. The Abbot nodded his head to them and waved his hand, gesturing for them to sit down. Skipper took a wooden seat straight across from the hedgehog; straight backed and uncomfortable; suiting his personality quite well. It wasn't like him to be comfortable when there was an important subject at hand. The other two otters took whatever seats they could take. The scarred one, Ruddtail, had a bandage over the upper right side of his face, blocking off his eye. His face was set in a frown; the otter wasn't in a good mood. Abbot Song could only assume it was because he only had one eye to work with. The second otter, Ruddtail's brother Planktail, was smiling slightly, looking around and taking in all of his surroundings; he had obviously never been in Cavern Hole before. The Abbot smiled at them.

"Welcome. As soon as the others arrive, we can get started."

Soon after the otters, two mice walked in the room, nodding greetings to everyone in attendance and taking seats in large fluffy chairs. One was young, nearing her nineteenth season. She was wearing a long dress, patterns of flowers and roses swirling their way up it to her neckline, where it cut off neatly. She glided along almost as if she wasn't truly moving, but instead floating just above the floor. She slid her way into a chair and faced the rest of the group. Sister Rosemary was one of the true powers inside of the Abbey. The Abbot respected her opinion on any subject, for she was wise beyond her seasons. Her voice ran like water flowing, never missing a beat, but instead a constant movement, as if stopping wasn't needed. All-in-all, she could convince an adder to give up it's teeth for no reward.

"Good afternoon father abbot, Skipper, Ruddtail, Planktail. It is a pleasure to see you all here."

The other mouse, sister Alma, was much more aged. She was grey, nearing her sixtieth season, and shakily made her way to her chair, which she plopped down in heavily. She wore glasses on the edge of her hooked nose, and wore a deep violet dress that seemed almost bigger than she was. She wasn't much of a conversationalist, and had a bit of a short temper, as her pursed lips showed. They parted as she spoke her greeting.

"Yes, hello to you all. Well, Abbot Song, what have you called us here for today?"

The Abbot stood up, hearing his quills pop out from the holes they had made in the chair. He winced and forced himself not to turn around and look at the damage, but instead to address the small group that signified the current power of his Abbey. This was his council, and surely they would stand behind him in this matter.

"Welcome everybody. This meeting has been called to address a bit of a situation we have had. Last night, Ruddtail and Planktail here," he gestured to the otters, who nodded as their names were called, "found a small camp that two foxes, a male and female, had made. From what they have told me, I have assumed that they felt threatened by the male, who called himself Deathclaw, and were forced to kill him. After which they, and correct me if I'm mistaken, sneaked back around and found the camp, hoping to catch the other fox by suprise, so that they could possibly have a non-violent confrontation with her. Ruddtail, could you carry on from here?"

Ruddtail stood up, looking dizzy for a second, then continued.

"Aye, I can continue. After we killed the first fox, we went back around to the camp. Then we heard a scream from the forest, and the second fox, a blonde vixen, came back. We tried to tell her to leave, but she attacked us, for fear of us hurting her kit I guess. Sadly, she is dead as well."

The otter quickly sat back down, seemingly glad to be out of everybody's attention. Then the Abbot, who had stood through the otter's testimony, cleared his throat, his mind wandering back to the tapestry.

"Yes, this is why we have come. Now that you know the backstory, we can move on. The reason that you have been called here today is because we have taken the kit inside out walls. I personally see no reason not to let him stay. But, as Abbot, I must be fair and allow a meeting like this to take place. So, what are your thoughts on this subject?"

Sister Alma cleared her throat, a high pitched, almost girly, sound, and stood up. She gave a small, almost I-know-more-than-you glance to everybody, and spoke.

"Well, I don't support this decision. He's a fox! Foxes are usually known to be the most cunning of vermin, how do we know his parents haven't planted some hidden command in his mind or some-"

Skipper jumped up out of his chair and glared at the mouse, who seemed shaken at this outburst.

"Yer paranoid! I meself saw the kit, it ain't old enough ter eat by itself, let alone be a weapon! I second the Abbot's decision. Redwall is known fer it's generosity at letting anyone who needed a 'ome stay 'ere."

The otters behind him echoed an agreement. As everyone had stated their opinions, all eyes turned on Rosemary. She was sitting back in her chair, her paws about an inch apart and her fingers touching together. Once everyone had quieted down, she stood up, once again barely moving, and spoke her mind.

"In my opinion, I agree with Abbot Song. Though I have not as of this time seen the kit, I have been assured that it is just that, a kit. It isn't old enough to mean us, or cause us any harm."

The Abbot smiled, and quickly changed it to an official look, speaking the closing of the meeting.

"Well, it would seem the majority of this council agrees to keep the fox. We shall, of course, have to see how he turns out as he grows up, but for now, nobody is to harm him because of his race. This meeting is adjourned."

Skipper, Rudd, and Plank left immediantly, a smug look on the leader's face while the other two wore unreadable expressions. Then Alma left, muttering a final comment as she left.

"You will regret this. If what I know is true, you will regret this."

And finally, all that was left in the room was the Abbot and Rosemary. She looked to him, smiled warmly, and started walking toward the door.

"Good luck with the kit, Father Abbot. I am glad my support could be used to your favor."

And then she was gone. That was how she worked, showing up, doing as much as had to be done to get somebody somewhere, then leaving them to the assignment themselves. The Abbot shook his head and, with a final look at the walls, left the room, going to see the baby and 'tell him the good news.'


	4. Chapter Four: The Other Son

**Chapter Four: The Other Son**

_Setting: Mossflower Forest; Early Afternoon_

_The Master_. None knew why he was called this, but anybody who questioned was not around for an answer. He was, to say the least, extremely intimidating, able to strike fear into the hearts of all those around him. Today, he was searching for the two foxes he had sent out as scouts a few nights before. He had taken their stupid second kit as collateral, to make sure that they would come back, but they seemed to have abandoned him.

Nobody knew _The Master_'s race, just that he covered himself in a large, black cloak. Nobody had ever seen his face, or if anybody had, they weren't around to tell what it looked like. He had some way of making important people look up to him, as if he outranked them. For he was _The Master_, and none could stand before him.

As he passed under the trees of the forest, looking in each direction for any sign that the two had been through this region, his army fanned out around him, looking around as well. Any clue caught his attention; a snapped twig, grass that was matted down, a whiff upon the air.

Yes, that was it, he could smell them. Something tainted the smell; blood, they must have been fighting. _The Master_ started to run, effectively causing those around him to stop in their tracks. Seeing something that tall running through the trees, the weaving branches seeming to move out of his way, his cloak billowing around him would cause anybeast to stop and stare. But that didn't stop _The Master_. No, he was on the trail, he could smell them, he knew they were near. The traitors would-

He burst through a large wall of vines and branches and stopped, barely missing tripping over the corpse of Deathclaw. He stood there for a moment, staring over the body, the excess of his cloak flowing in the slight breeze. _The Master_ wouldn't admit it, but he was shocked. All his plans of punishment flowed out from him. After seeing this corpse, _The Master_ couldn't help but walk toward the camp, with the still slightly smoking fire, to see the female lying there, facedown with a spear-hole through her head.

_The Master_ didn't have time to look at corpses! He had things to do, more important places to be! He called his army to him, and within moments, they were surrounding the fire and the female's corpse. _The Master_ started to pace around the fire, speaking his orders to the group, his raspy, deep voice echoing loudly enough for everyone around to hear him.

"It would seem that we were mistaken about these two abandoning us. They were merely ambushed. They won't be around to miss the kit. Drop it off here, near it's parents. What was it's name? Bladefang? Ah, it doesn't matter, for it'll die eventually."

A ferret came forward, carrying the kit by the scruff of his neck, the infant squirming and crying out. She sat the baby fox on the ground next to his mother, saluted _The Master_, and disappeared into the group again. He glared down at the squirming kit, then looked up to his army again.

"Get moving."

The large mass of beasts all walked to the east, _The Master_ following close behind them. After all were gone, and the kit still lay squirming and crying, two eyes appeared in the shadow of an overhanging tree. They materialized into an aging vixen as she walked into the light. She had heard all that the cloaked figure had said, and was determined to save the baby. She picked it up, gave it a quick lookover, noted the color of red on his tail, and smiled. There wasn't anything wrong with him, and she could use an assistant in a few years, when she would be too old to gather her herbs. Other than that, she would have to teach him her ways of predicting the future.

"Come, Bladefang, let's get you to my home, where it is warmer."


	5. Chapter Five: A Name of Greatness

**Chapter Five: A Name of Greatness...**

_Setting: Redwall Abbey; Mid-afternoon_

Abbot Song hurried up the stairs to the dormitory, eager to see the kit, as well as to do the other task he had set for himself; to finally find it a name. The stairs creaked slightly, showing their immense age, but the hedgehog didn't slow down. After a moment, he reached the top, but had to stop and pant for a moment. He wasn't exactly young anymore, and he was slowly finding that out for himself.

After catching his breath, the Abbot started strolling down the hallway to the dormitory where he had dropped off the infant, looking once again at the walls. The red sandstone reflected light just enough to make a comfortable light level in the Abbey. The old Abbot walked down the hall in mild happiness, and reached the room in no time. He opened the door quietly and looked inside. The windows were uncovered, which meant nobody was sleeping, and, to his suprise, Ruddtail was standing over the kit, whispering something to it.

The old hedgehog opened the door farther and slipped inside, closing it behind him again. Then he turned to the otter and baby fox.

"Hello, Ruddtail. How's the kit doing?"

The otter turned to him and fumbled with his bandaging.

"Hello, Abbot Song. He's doing fine. Have you decided on a name for it yet?"

"No, I haven't. If you have any suggestions, I would be happy to hear them."

"Actually, I did. What about Rakiir?"

"It sounds good to me," the Abbot smiled and turned down to the kit, who was falling asleep, "you are now Rakiir."

((Author's Note: Thanks for all the good reviews guys. This chapter is extremely short because the naming was all that I needed to get across. They should get longer from here on out though.))


	6. Chapter Six: The First Meeting Pt 1

**Chapter Six: The First Meeting Pt. 1 **

_Setting: Mossflower Woods, early morning. 6 seasons after Chapter 5_

((Author's Note: There is something I wish to clarify. I'm making a season in the story equal essentially one year to us. This differs from Corsairs, where one season equals two years, but meh.))

"Fang! Get in 'ere, I need yer 'elp!"

The vixen's voice echoed out of the tree and through the surrounding forest. After a few moments, the kit dawdled out of the woods toward their home. His silver fur lit and darkened as he passed in and out of the trees' shadows. He had a funny coloring, for though his fur was silver, his tail was a firey red. The kit's snout was a bit longer and narrower than was normal, giving him a slightly malicious appearance, but his large and expressive eyes negated the effect quite nicely.

He ducked under low branches and weaved around bushes without thought; they had become second nature to him. The fox knew this part of the forest like the back of his paw, for he had spent every day of the past two seasons exploring it. After a few moments, he came to the hollowed out tree that signified where the two lived. It was one of the taller ones in Mossflower, towering over the others by at least twenty feet. As he passed under it, Bladefang couldn't help but look straight up at it, standing in awe as he always did.

"I don't 'ave all day!"

Shaking his head to clear it, the fox looked a bit lower, seeing the cut-out window about twenty feet above the ground. A rebellious sneer crossed his face for a moment, but was quickly replaced by curiosity, which led him to open the door and walk inside.

As the wooden door latched shut behind him, Fang looked around the room. The tree was essentially split into three levels, each of which had it's own window. The ground floor, which he had just entered, was set up to look like a psychic's tent. A large table sat in the center of the room, one chair on each side and a large crystal ball in the middle. It reflected the light streaming in from the window, every dust particle perfectly recreated in it's glassy surface. Memories of staring into it for hours, enchanted by the reflections, returned to the young fox, and a smile crossed his face. A dark blue circular rug covered the space under the table, the golden embroidery outlining elegant drawings of snakes, foxes, rats, and all sorts of shapes, vague only to the point to tell what they were.

The side of the room turned into a staircase, and wound up to the ceiling. Fang followed this up to the second floor, where the older vixen was spending more and more of her days now. She was sleeping more, and her fur had slowly turned to a silvery-gray, though it wasn't nearly as vibrant a color as Fang's, actually being more of a dull, tired color, reflecting her attitude.

The room was set like a bedroom, a few feather-stuffed sacks under the window; the best bed that she could afford. Scattered around the room were various things, not fitting in with each other. There was an old, wooden trunk on one side of the room, filled with various herbs and plants; ingredients for the vixen's unorthodox healing techniques. A large shard of glass, from who knows where, hung across from the window. It was jagged around the edges, as if cut in a hurry. The window itself was something to be interested in. It was hacked out with a sword. Rough edges and a lack of anything valuable summarized the vixen's life. To the wall was, once again, a staircase leading up to the final room; Fang's room.

But he had no need of going up them now, for the reason he had come up this far was sitting on the bed, giving him a slight glare. She had never given him a name, so he knew not what to call her, but sufficed with 'ma'am'. He used this now in his greeting, which sounded slightly like he forced a happy tone.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Get over 'ere and 'elp me up."

Fang walked slowly over to the older fox and held out a paw. He couldn't do much in the area of actually helping her up, but the kit provided enough support so that she could do enough of the work herself to actually make it to her feet. As she rose, there were quite a few audible cracks and pops, and she groaned in pain. The younger fox gave a sympathetic wince; the vixen was getting pretty old, and not everything was working as well as it should have. She didn't seem to like having to call her adopted son inside to only help her up, but old bones were forcing her to.

Once she was on her feet, her mood immediantly changed, and she glared at the smaller fox, her sharp golden eyes holding a disappointed and sad gaze.

"Get up ter yer room, we're going out today. Can't 'ave you lookin' like that."

"Yes ma'am."

Fang turned and walked up to the stairs, toward his room. At the Abbey, he would have still been considered a dibbun, but he had been forced to grow up at an early age, living where he did. When the fox reached his room, the slight breeze coming from the window startled him, as it usually did. This was usually the only floor that got wind, since it _was _level with the treetops, if not a little above. It was still hard to get used to the change between stillness and air.

The room itself was only slightly more impressive then the vixen's. It had the same pile of feather-stuffed sacks for his bed, though he had a stolen blanket for himself. The constant wind did make it cold at night, and he couldn't get sick, because where would the vixen be then? The blanket was simple; essentially just a sheet, stuffed to make it thicker.

There was another trunk in this room. It was wooden and had the shape of a treasure chest. The wood was chipping and wasn't in overall good shape. But it wasn't the treasure... that was inside. Everything that Fang owned was currently in that chest. He walked over and opened it, taking a quick stock of everything in there. After a moment, and seeming satisfied, he pulled out a black cloak. This, unlike any other article of clothing he owned, fit him perfectly. It covered his head and body, trailing just a bit along the ground. Fang put it on and admired it. Unbuttoning the top, he left the front open, showing off the silver fur underneath.

The young fox walked back down the stairs, past the vixen's room, and down into the bottom. There, he saw the vixen standing by the door. She had a shawl of some dark color, either dark blue or a black.

"Ready ma'am."

"Good, now let's go."

She opened the door and walked into the forest, the younger fox not far behind her. The trees blocked most of the light from hitting them, small splotches here and there the only reassurances that it was still day somewhere. From the darker areas, small flashing lights; probably fireflys, and small pairs of eyes watched the pair pass by. The vixen walked with confidence, she had been past them hundreds of times; it was a fact to her that they wouldn't, and for that matter, couldn't, harm them. Fang, on the other hand, imagined large beasts behind each pair of eyes, barely leashed from jumping out and attacking them. His childish dreams included fighting them off single-handedly, nary a drop of sweat escaping his brow.

After a few moments of this sort of daydreaming, the fox came out of the trance, noticing some of the more intricate details of his surroundings. He had come out this far before; the vixen sold things on the main road once a week, but more dreams of adventuring into the trees, finding what was out there, battling monsters and finding treasures, flitted through his mind. Every dragonfly that zoomed past was a sparrow warrior, coming to rip Fang's eyes out. He growled and billowed his cape menacingly; quite the humorous gesture for anybody who would have met them on the small, backwood path.

When they came to the road, the vixen led him south along it a little way. There, she reached into a bush, rummaged around for a minute, and pulled out a large sack, giving a triumphant cackle.

"Good, nobody stole it. Well, Fang, you know 'ow ter get us goin'."

Fang grinned and took the bag. Looking through it, he threw out anything that had gone bad over the past week. Once he was satisfied, he gave the bag back to the vixen, who gave him a slightly disapproving glare.

"No need to be so picky. Next time, leave whatever still looks good. What the customer doesn' know won't 'urt 'em. Or, if it does, we'll be long gone."

Most of that day passed without anybody coming along the path. The vixen's will was unabated, however, and she stood at the side of the path, rigid as the trees at her back. Fang was impatient; his childish imagination and energy wanted to force him to run, to play. Standing around wasn't any fun. This wasn't what he wanted to do with his day. After a few hours of standing there, he laid down and went to sleep. The vixen glared for a while, but eventually returned her gaze to the road, waiting for anybody to come...

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"Fang, wake up. Somebody's comin'!"

The fox woke up suddenly, his golden eyes taking their time to open. They seemed dry, scratchy, begging to be closed again. But he forced the impulse back down, yawned and tried to stand, getting hooked on his cloak. It seemed to have tangled around him while he had been asleep. Fang fumbled around with it for a moment, and finally broke free, standing and walking over to the vixen's side.

Down the road, five travellers were clearly visable, coming from the direction of the Abbey. A stony look crossed the older fox's face; she didn't like Abbey-beasts too much. But as they approached, and identifiable details came into place, she seemed to lighten up slightly. It was the Abbot, three otters, and a kit, out for a walk. Surely the father Abbot of Redwall Abbey would be kind enough to a couple of impoverished creatures.


End file.
